


DamijonWeek2019 Day One: Moving In Together

by HappyDamijon



Series: DamijonWeek2019 [1]
Category: Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Damijonweek2019, Day One, Fake Marriage, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Moving In Together, Short, also, because I felt like it, idk i had fun with this, little snippet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-06 08:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17341844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyDamijon/pseuds/HappyDamijon
Summary: DamijonWeek2019 Day One: Moving In TogetherJon moves in with Damian. He doesn't have a TV, and that's a problem.Or:Short little thang I wrote because I wanted to have fun. It's not your average "moving in together" story, but I had fun :D





	DamijonWeek2019 Day One: Moving In Together

**Author's Note:**

> This is for damijonweek2019! Hope you guys enjoy this one shot (????)
> 
> DamijonWeek2019 Day One: Moving In Together
> 
> *It’s almost 2am I’m tired af but here y’all go cuz why not*

"Explain to me again— _why_ do we need to pretend we're married?" Jon's voice is hurried, whispered, as they go up the steps to Damian's—Jon's— _their_ apartment. Damian ignores him, unlocking their door and letting himself in. Once inside Jon sets the large box down, filled with the last of his stuff. Damian looks annoyed, which means his face is particularly blank and his body is too stiff as he walks towards the fridge. 

"Trust me," he says, pouring himself some organic orange juice, "I feel no different than you do, if not more. If there was another just as viable solution, I wouldn't be going along with this either."

"Yeah, but, living together?" Jon asks. He grabs the cup Damian set down, taking a large gulp. Damian glares.

"Unfortunately." He goes to grab another cup, letting Jon keep his. 

It's a cozy little apartment, filled with next to nothing. It's no bigger than someone's garage, it seems: a tiny living room with a kitchen attached, a small hallway consisting of two doors that lead either to a tiny room or an even tinier bathroom. In the corner there's his boxes, right next to the cats, Alfred's, expensive and unnecessarily complicated cat tree. He's currently sleeping, unbothered by Jon's presence. The small living space has a coffee table and a single couch chair; no TV in front of it, only a tree, as if he sits and watches it every evening. Good thing Jon prepared for that. Of course, the only real decorations are two photos, both in tiny frames. The first is visible from the door, across the room on the window sill. The second is seated proudly on the kitchen counter, tilted out towards the open space. The windowsill one is of him, Alfred and his father, Bruce, from back when he was noticeably shorter than Jon. The other is of he and the Teen Titans. It's a bit more recent than the last photo, but Damian still looks young, possibly seventeen. Jon never really officially joined that group, and perhaps that was for the best. Homework and Teen Titans just didn't work well for him back in high school. College was hard enough too, especially with Damian always dragging him into messes he never wanted to be a part of. For example, _now_. The only difference is that he's juggling a _job_ instead of school. 

Damian moves past him, speaking as he leaves. Jon follows him, rolling his eyes. Of course Damian expects Jon to follow him, but is it really all that hard to ask? 

"I'm unable to sleep on the floor, seeing as it is terrible for my back. We can share the mattress if you'd like, but it would work best if you—"

"I'll manage," Jon says dryly. Then he adds, bitterly, "I mean, God forbid _you_ sleep on the floor."

"We can share," Damian says, lifting a brow. "But as you can tell..."

Jon eyes the bed. It looks as though it can barely fit Damian. He looks back at the man, and his eyes are lit in a way that says 'I win'. Jon frowns. Then he huffs.

"Why is this place so small anyways?"

Damian furrows his brows. "Isn't it obvious? I live alone."

"Yeah, but your dad's rich." 

They leave, Jon following Damian, per usual. Damian chooses not to answer him, instead petting Alfred, seeming to have woken during the short period they were gone. The cat purrs loudly, leaning into the touch. He's an old cat: about twelve years. Damian loves all of his pets, so it only further confuses Jon why Damian went with such a small place, where he realistically _only_ can have Alfred. Part of the reason must have to do with how recluse he is; though, Jon thinks, wouldn't Damian be happier in a large house where he can have space away from his neighbors, rather than in an apartment complex filled with random strangers?

"You have your ring?" Damian asks suddenly, Jon blinking in surprise, almost forgetting why he was there in the first place. He searches his pockets, and then finds it shoved somewhere in his left back pocket. He pulls it out, handing it to Damian. 

" _I_ don't need it," Damian scowls. "You need to begin wearing it regularly, lest we get exposed. And all this effort would be of no purpose." 

Jon whistles, nodding. "Down the drain. That would suck."

Damian glares, Alfred's purring stopping at the same time. Jon loudly sighs, putting the ring on. 

"I swear, I can't say anything without you making a face. How the hell are we going to pull this off in public?"

"Easy," Damian responds, moving past him. Alfred stretches and then follows after him, his paws landing softly on the floor. "You act as you usually do, just in love. We certainly don't have to be the perfect couple. Just behave as if you're in a relationship with me."

Jon scrunches his nose. "Yeah, _okay_ , but I was talking about _you_. Half the time you look like you can't stand me." 

"Perhaps I'm a good actor. Now unpack. We don't need anybody taking pictures from outside wondering why your belongings are boxed up."

"This...is very extra to get away from an ex." 

Damian actually smirks then, his eyes dark and lips exceptionally pink. Darn Jon's great eyesight. 

"Date an obsessed and possessive alien, then you'll understand." 

"Mm. That's why we just _have_ to be married. You don't think she'll, I don't know, kill me?" Jon brings the top box down, opening it to remember what's inside. Why is he such a good friend? He doesn't believe anyone would ever deal with this much extra baggage and bullcrap that comes with being best friends with Damian. 

Damian hums. "I don't believe so. Marriage is much more sacred in her culture than ours. Once she's convinced we're married she'll most likely move on." 

"You don't _believe_ so? Damian—"

"I wouldn't let her kill you. Besides, you're practically indestructible, you can handle yourself. Are those _video games_?"

Jon opens and closes his mouth. He doesn't know which sentence to address, so he shakes his head and starts over, peering into his own box. "Uh, yeah. I thought you were normal and had, I don't know, at least _one_ TV?"

"Your mistake for assuming I'd be anywhere near normal," Damian says. "I'm not getting a TV." 

"Sure," Jon says distractedly, grabbing a second box. 

"I'm _not_. I entertained you with going along with those things when we were younger for the sake of our _friendship_. This is my house, you can't—"

Jon interrupts him innocently, pointing at a long box that he hid behind the other ones, in a familiar shape. " _Our_ house, honey. And where would you like the TV, in our room or here?"

Damian puts the pieces together in half a second, his eyes blowing wide. " _Why, you—_ " He tackles Jon to the ground, the younger one laughing hysterically. 

They wrestle, twisting and pulling, Damian somehow slippery, always managing to find his way out of Jon's grip. They're both laughing, Damian mostly quietly, until Jon finally manages to pin Damian down, his breathing just a bit heavier than usual, obviously trying to hide just how winded he is. From underneath Jon, he looks beautiful, even smiling. The thing is, as hard as it is to be Damian's friend, Jon doesn't believe that anyone else's friendship would be just as _rewarding_. Sure, Damian is far from perfect, but truth be told, no one is. 

"She's here," Damian whispers, his smile fading. His eyes are searching Jon's face, going from his eyes, to his nose, forehead, chin, lips. "Let go of my wrists."

Jon immediately lets go, surprised by how quickly Damian became serious. He opens his mouth to apologize, sitting up, when Damian pulls him back down with his free hands, bringing his lips down to his. Jon makes a soft noise in surprise, but he closes his eyes instinctively. He kisses Damian back, his throat tight as if Damian is wrapping his fingers around, squeezing, suffocating him. But Damian's hands stay in his hair, tangled in between strands. After a long moment Jon loosens, letting his body fit on top of Damian's, trapping him. He gets lost in the kiss, in the _moment_ , the adrenaline from the wrestling beforehand still in his veins, exciting him. He breathes through his nose, the kisses slow, experimental. Shy in a way. He's kissing Damian. He's feeling the way Damian's lips feel against his, the way his warm body feels underneath his. It’s entirely new. Exciting, though. 

There’s a mechanical click, a whir of tiny metal and plastic working together to achieve a goal. A _picture_ , taken outside the window, a few yards away. The culprit seems to rustle a few leaves as they climb down, Jon zeroing in on every huff as they make their way down, walking away, hopefully satisfied with their findings. 

Jon pulls away. He sits down on his calves, shocked. Of course he heard Damian in the beginning, but he had completely forgotten when they started to kiss. 

Damian stays where he is on his back, Alfred back to sleeping on his cat tree. His fake husband looks at a loss for words, which rarely happens. The ring on his finger suddenly feels tight, and he’s realizing that Damian has had his on the whole time. Always. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Damian says, his voice rough. He clears it, moving back from between Jon’s legs. He lifts himself, leaning back on his elbows. “I just—I figured it’d be good practice if—the practice would do you good. It needs to be believable.” 

Jon looks down, away. He should have figured. Not that anything else was going through his brain. In fact, why else would Damian kiss him? And why would Jon care? It was just a kiss. Sure, he _liked_ it, and he didn't mind the way their bodies seemed to fit together perfectly but that doesn't have to mean anything. Hell, Damian could have felt the same way about his ex at some point. God, where is he going with this? Jon snaps his attention back to Damian, realizing that he should probably say something. 

"Oh," Jon says, wiping his hands onto his thighs. He stands, ruffling his hair. "Yeah, of course. I mean, it's fine. We needed to be believable and, uh, we were. I guess." Damian doesn't say anything. Jon stands, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Well. She got a picture, for sure. Maybe we won't have to be married for long after all." He adds a soft chuckle, hoping Damian would roll his eyes or _something_ , to help make this less awkward. 

Damian goes stoic, his face blank. "She...was here. You heard something." 

Jon shrugs. "Well, I don't know if it was _her_ but I heard _someone_ take a picture." He heard the click pretty clearly in fact. He didn't see anyone, like Damian—Jon furrows his brows. "Wait a second, how did you—"

"I should make dinner," Damian interrupts, walking away. Jon follows, growing more and more confused.

"You said she was here and then—then that happened and—but you shouldn't have. I mean, you couldn't have known she was. Unless you—"

"Don't bother speaking if you can't speak a single coherent sentence," Damian snaps, pulling a pot out of the cupboard. 

Finally, Jon spits out, "You _kissed_ me. On _purpose_."

"Of course it was _on purpose_ ," Damian says, rolling his eyes as he fills the pot with water. "No one kisses someone for more than a second on _accident_. Besides, as I said before, it was for practice. The situation would be more realistic if I caught you by surprise. I just happened to be right." 

Jon narrows his eyes, watching as Damian set the pot of water on the stove, turning the fire on. He then turns and catches Jon's eye, crossing his arms. 

"You had to have known something like this would happen. We're supposed to be _married_." 

"Yeah, well I thought _moving in_ with you was sufficient enough! Kissing me whenever you'd like wasn't the plan!" 

"So you want me to start asking?" Damian asks, raising an eyebrow. "Would it have made much of a difference?" 

" _Yes_. It would have been nice to have some sort of _warning—_ "

"Can I kiss you?"

"See?" Jon says, throwing his hands up. "It's not that hard—" 

Damian goes in for a kiss, and Jon shuts up immediately. Their lips meet for a second time that night, this time Jon pulling Damian into him. After a moment he forces him against the nearest counter, getting lost for a bit before pulling away. 

"Wait," he says hoarsely, gripping the counter. "You should have waited for my answer—"

"I was proving a point," Damian says, wrapping his arms around Jon's neck. His lips are red, wet, and Jon can't seem to look away. Damian smiles lightly. "Want me to prove another?"

Jon looks back at his eyes. They're light, playful; happy in a way Jon hasn't seen in too long. Jon likes this side of Damian. Well, he likes all sides of Damian, good and bad, but he always found it most fun when he could play around freely. 

"Sure," Jon whispers huskily, leaning in. Damian waits, his lips parting. "Prove to me you can handle a TV, and I won't complain about sleeping on the floor."

Damian immediately sobers, huffing as he shoves a laughing Jon away. "You just _had_ to ruin it, didn't you?"

"What?" Jon asks innocently, "You have to accommodate to my needs. Like a good husband." 

"Those aren't needs, they're _wants_ , and I told you I'm not—"

"We're gonna _need_ a bigger bed," Jon says, interrupting. Damian doesn't comment, opting for staring at Jon with a curious expression, possibly stuck on how to answer. "...If you want this marriage to work."

Damian finally bites his lip. "Finish moving in. Then we'll talk."

Jon smiles, bravely leaning in to give Damian a quick peck on the lips.

"I'm glad you agree." 

He could get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty hopefully some of y'all like this! Until tomorrow!
> 
> (I made this like a month ago and I haven’t gone back to edit—if there are any mistakes, sorry!)


End file.
